


Normal People are Overrated (and Boring)

by blakesparkles



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Asylum, Breathplay, Dissociation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ethan is here briefly, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, I know that Suicide Squad is a terrible movie but, I studied for this story, M/M, Mark's a doctor, Medical Procedures, Mental Hospital, Not as heavy as it sounds???, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sassy Anti, Sexual Content, Stockholm Syndrome, injuries, think of Harley's cage for visuals okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-28 18:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: They didn’t give him a name._Title credit goes to MargaretKire ♥





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! Here I am again with another story... This one will not be as long as the others, but I hope you like this little world for now! Enjoy! ♥

Mark purses his lips.

 

The screaming sounds echo around the dim hallway of the Stockhausen’s Asylum while the brunet is escorted towards his destination. Two guards walk side by side, guiding him through the maze of halls and cells, and their black outfits are like a shadow in this place. He tightens his grip on his medical kit and focuses in looking ahead, ignoring the feeling of being watched. Mark thinks about the reason he’s here, about his patient. An inmate picked a fight during a recreation hour and got badly injured. He sighs, remembering the call he received from the Asylum, requesting medical assistance. They didn’t give him a name.

 

A couple of turns later, they reach the end of a particular empty hall and the guards raise their hands to make him stop. There’s a metal door locked up with mechanical engineering and Mark stays put, watching one of the guards unlock the door with a code. The sound of metal clicking fills the cold air and they nod at the doctor, telling him to come closer. Mark’s steps are wary when he walks into the other room and he frowns. The place is large, two sets of stairs that lead to a higher floor where more guards can be seen. Spotlights illuminate a cage in the middle of the room, containing just a bed and a person. This cell is certainly different from the others.

 

“Wait here,” Guard Number One murmurs to him and walks towards the cage.

 

Mark’s hazel eyes gaze at the cell and the guards call the inmate’s attention by hitting the metal bars and pointing at him with handcuffs. He hears the inmate hissing and Mark cocks an eyebrow at his attitude. The men in black step inside and the prisoner flashes a wide smile with bloody teeth, jumping on the bars to climb up to the ceiling. Mark’s surprised to see a man climbing vertical obstacles so easily. But then again, the poor guy probably has lots of time to practice. The guards shout for him to come back down immediately and the inmate sticks his tongue out, locking his legs on the cage to stay upside down. He makes a childish movement with his hands on his cheek and the odd scene sends a shiver down Mark’s spine.

 

There’s a zapping sound in the air and the brunet’s eyes widen when he realizes that they shot him with a taser gun. The inmate grits his teeth, body shaking with the electricity, and he falls onto the floor with a loud thud. The workers use the opportunity to drag him up to a metal chair and they attach the handcuffs to him. The prisoner’s ankles are also chained and someone wearing white covers his mouth with a leather mask. Mark’s frown increases, finding that unnecessary, but he remains quiet. They place another chair and a small metal table for the brunet. Finally, they order him to come closer and they stay far enough away for Mark to focus on his job.

 

The black-haired man opens his medical kit on top of the table when he sits down, and he begins to place some common tools and gauze on the metal surface. Once Mark’s satisfied with his organization, he takes a look at the inmate and he holds his breathing for a second. Sapphire eyes are glued to his, and he can tell that the man is grinning from under the mask. Mark notices that his hair was probably green at some point, but now is nothing more than a fading yellow mixed with brown roots. There’s a deep cut above his eyebrow, the edges are widely separated, and he’ll need stitches for that. Bruises mark around his neck, purple and yellow painting his skin. Despite his hands being tied up around the chair’s arms, the brunet can see more cuts and bruises perfectly well. His bloody knuckles are quite a sight.

 

“Hi,” Mark greets him with a quick smile, wanting to be polite. “I’ll take care of your injuries, alright?”

 

The latter only narrows his eyes as a response and Mark tightens his lips, knowing he can’t talk because of the leather mask on his face. The green-haired man breathes heavily and Mark assumes it’s due to the electrical shock from before. The doctor purses his lips again, turning away to grab some sterilized gauze so he can clean the wounds. Blue eyes follow his every move and it unsettles Mark, but not enough to prevent him from doing his job. Silence embraces the room and the man doesn’t flinch when Mark touches the deep cut with the gauze. He just keeps looking at the brunet with wide eyes, barely blinking.

 

The black-haired man grunts under his breath when his wrist keeps brushing against the mask. It’s hard enough to take care of a patient that can’t move, let alone a freaking muzzle that’s in his way. Mark puts down the gauze and adjusts his gloves before bringing his hands to the back of the inmate’s head. The green-haired man frowns at him and some guards shout at him to stop moving. Mark glares at them.

 

“In order for me to do my work, I need my patient to be able to talk. I’ll need to ask him questions to know if he’s hurt somewhere else,” he says strongly to convince them quickly.

 

After a nod from Guard Number Two and instructions to be careful, Mark sighs and proceeds to remove the muzzle from the man’s face. He places the damn thing on the table and he sees the inmate open and close his mouth. Mark nods to himself, happy that he got rid of that stupid thing, and he continues to clean more wounds. Now that the mask is gone, he can see another deep cut down his jaw. The brunet hums and the green-haired man remains silent. 

 

Mark picks up a sterilized needle and thread to start stitching up the cut above his eyebrow. There’s a small grunt coming from the prisoner and the brunet mouths a  _ Sorry _ at him, being careful to not breathe on the open wound. Mark remembers how agile this man was when the guards walked inside his cell and he wonders how the other person that fought with the inmate is. They must be really hurt as well and Mark frowns, realizing that the Asylum’s workers didn’t mention another prisoner to take care of.

 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Mark says after finishing the first cut. He cuts the thread and applies antibacterial ointment before placing a bandaid that won’t stick to the wound. “Did you hit your head somewhere? I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

 

More silence follows and when the brunet thinks that he won’t get any answers from this man, he hears him hum. Mark crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. The green-haired man huffs.

 

“Yes,” he finally says. “The big guy bashed my head against the wall.”

 

Mark sighs and picks up a small flashlight to check his eyesight. “Are you feeling nauseous? Dizzy? Neck pain?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Nothing at all?”

 

The man shakes his head and fading green hair falls over his forehead. Mark purses his lips, a gesture his mother never liked on him, and he puts the flashlight away to go back to stitching. The cut on his jaw is a little more difficult to work with due to the angle, so he asks the man to tilt his head to the left. Mark does the same thing as before, applying ointment and a bandage appropriate for the wound. The brunet moves to his knuckles and grimaces at the sight.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Mark murmurs, trying to chat during the treatment. “What happened?”

 

The green-haired man clicks his tongue and flashes a smile, blood still in his mouth. Mark thinks that if his ankles weren’t chained, the man would’ve crossed his legs. “I got bored.”

 

Mark hums, picking up a medical bottle of water and a metal bowl. “Open your mouth.”

 

“Oh my!” The man grins. “Already, doc? I don’t even know your name.”

 

The brunet doesn’t bat an eye at him and just raises the bottle towards him. The green-haired man huffs and does what he’s told. Mark presses the plastic bottle and squirts water into his mouth and tells him to rinse. The brunet places the bowl below his chin and the inmate carries a mischievous glint in his eyes when spilling the now pink-ish water. Mark scowls, noticing that he purposefully made the mess drip down his chin and neck. The green-haired man grins when Mark cleans his face with a tissue and the brunet flinches when he tries to bite his fingers.

 

The prisoner laughs, throwing his head back and his knees move up a little. Mark’s heart races at the sudden jumpscare and he feels slightly ashamed by it. Some guards glare at the inmate, ready to act in case something serious happens. Mark makes a sign with his hand, wanting them to relax and not hurt his patient, as crazy as this one can apparently be. The man’s giggles echo in the open space and the brunet shakes his head, deciding to finish his goddamn work and get out of here as soon as possible.

 

“My name’s Mark,” he mumbles with a light frown and the laughing fades away. He looks up to see the prisoner gazing at him with a serious expression now, analyzing him up and down.

 

“Mark.”

 

The doctor feels goosebumps on the back of his neck when hearing his name rolling off of the prisoner’s tongue. They exchange a look, scanning each other, and Mark nods politely while covering his hands with gauze.

 

“What happened to the guy you fought? Doesn’t he need medical care too?”

 

“I killed him.”

 

“Oh…”

 

The green-haired man giggles and Mark’s mouth forms a thin line. They don’t speak again for awhile and the brunet begins to clean the table, putting away his tools and removing his gloves. Mark makes a sign at the guards to say that he’s done and he tells the inmate to take more care of himself. The green-haired man smirks at him, tilting his head in a fake innocent manner.

 

“See you later, doc.”

 

Mark frowns at his words, opening his mouth to say that he doesn’t work here, but then he closes it again, choosing to stay quiet. The brunet turns his back on him when the guards escort him to the exit and he can feel those blue eyes piercing through him on the way out. Mark ignores the screaming coming from the cells and says his goodbye to the workers, thanking them for the security and getting inside his car. He tightens his hands around the steering wheel, taking deep breaths. Mark drives away from the Asylum, still feeling like he’s being watched.

 

The black-haired man arrives at his apartment and the creaking sound of the door opening greets him. He sighs and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack in his small hallway. Mark removes his shoes, placing them in a corner next to his handbag, and he pops his arms on the way to the bathroom. He needs a nice shower after today and the brunet can’t help but think about what happened while the water drips down his skin. Mark had gone to a prison before to take care of injuries, that’s not out of the ordinary. But he had never gone to a place like that before. People that are so dangerous and unstable that they need to stay away from society. It seems maddening.

 

Mark wraps a white towel around his waist and uses another to dry his hair, placing it over his shoulders. He wonders when the inmates get to shower and, even so, he can’t imagine having his privacy taken away from him. That green-haired man killed a person simply because he was bored. No wonder he has a cage as a cell. Mark shakes his head and goes to his bedroom to get some clothes, a soft black shirt and comfortable sweatpants. The brunet bites the inside of his cheek, thinking of what to eat. Not feeling in the mood for cooking, he ends up ordering a take-out and eating it sitting on the living room floor while watching television. What a thrilling life he has.

 

Morning comes and Mark starts his day early, getting ready for his shift at the hospital. It’s one of those busy and stressful weeks, where the brunet sees so many patients that everything becomes a blur. Mark is proud of his job and he’s good at it, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to get better. He’s always trying his best and studying more in his free time, whatever little  _ free _ time he gets, anyway. Luckily, there’s a new nurse that keeps telling Mark to eat and, at one point, the guy gives a sandwich to the brunet from the cafeteria because Mark doesn’t have the time to go there.

 

The black-haired man washes his hands in the sink of the operating room, glad that everything went well with his patient during surgery. He’s starting to think that he’ll need to apply some ointment to treat his chapped hands, not wanting them to be sensitive. Someone calls his name and Mark looks across the room, seeing that same nurse through the window signing him to come closer. The brunet leaves the room and takes off his mask, looking at the blue-haired man.

 

“You’ve got a call on hold.”

 

“I can’t talk right now,” Mark shakes his head.

 

“They said it’s important. It’s from the, uh, the Asylum?” the boy frowns and Mark sighs.

 

“Thanks, Ethan.”

 

He frowns while walking towards the reception desk and he asks them to transfer the call to his office. Mark hasn’t thought about that visit for a couple of days now, too distracted with his work. He closes his door and picks up the telephone when it rings, sitting on his leather chair. Shelves filled with books stand behind him.

 

“Dr. Fischbach speaking.”

 

_ “Hello, Dr. Fischbach. I’m the director of the Stockhausen’s Asylum. Your presence is required once again.” _

 

Mark purses his lips, thinking about all the work he has for today. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m quite busy at the moment. Last week I was able to come easily because it was my day off. Is it the same patient as before?”

 

_ “Yes, it is. We did call another doctor before you during the week.”  _ There’s a brief pause.  _ “It didn’t go as we expected.” _

 

“What do you mean?”

 

_ “I’d rather just say that the previous doctor didn’t feel so well after seeing our inmate. You’re our best option at the moment, Dr. Fischbach.” _

 

Mark rubs his temple, holding back a sigh to be professional. He asks about the inmate’s injury and if he should bring something specific. She tells him that whatever he brings will be sufficient and the doctor rolls his eyes, not understanding how some people can be so ignorant. Even if the person is a prisoner, it does not lessen their right to have proper healthcare. Mark ends the call saying he’ll be on his way and the brunet leaves his office with a scowl. He takes off his white coat and explains to the receptionist about the situation, telling her to page another doctor to replace him while he’s away.

 

The Asylum’s hallways are still dim and the voices forever echo through the walls. Mark sighs when the guards proceed with their protocol, ordering him to stay while they approach the metal bars. This time, the green-haired man is standing in the middle of the cage with his piercing blue eyes already shining at Mark. He doesn’t fight the chains that keep him still in the chair, but the brunet grimaces when they put the muzzle on his face. Mark opens his mouth, saying that he will still need his patient to speak and that is unnecessary once again.

 

“Believe me,” Guard Number One says. “It is necessary. The bastard took a chunk of the previous doctor’s ear with his fucking teeth.”

 

_ ‘Didn’t feel so well’ my ass, _ Mark thinks to himself and approaches his patient with an always present scowl. His mother would be disappointed at his reception. The green-haired man lifts his chin up and the brunet assumes that that’s his way of greeting with the mask on. Mark nods briefly and sits in front of him, scanning the inmate for injuries. The stitches above his eyebrows and jaw need to be removed. Hazel eyes lower to his hands and he frowns even more, noticing that the gauze from before is gone and his right hand is swollen, fresh bruises marking his skin. Mark touches his hand, ignoring how cold he feels and adding a little bit of pressure. The man squints his sapphire eyes.

 

“You broke your hand.” He looks back at the inmate. “Didn’t you?”

 

The prisoner rolls his eyes and Mark takes that as a yes. He would much rather take an X-ray of his hand to analyse the damage, but the brunet assumes that they won’t let the green-haired man out of this place unless it’s for something major. Mark knits his eyebrows and touches his fingers, one by one, watching his expression and feeling his bones. The doctor tells him to try closing and opening his hand, moving to pick up a splint. Two of his fingers are broken and he will need to immobilize them. Mark wraps the prisoner’s hand with sterilized gauze after adding some ointment that will numb the painful areas. The splint extends to his fingertips up past his wrist and Mark makes sure it’s comfortable enough.

 

There’s a pur coming from the inmate and it looks like he’s smiling under the muzzle, his eyes curving slightly when he leans forward. Mark freezes for a second, watching the space between them get smaller and those icy eyes threaten to consume him. The brunet places a hand over the man’s chest, stopping his movements and their noses almost touch. And yes, the green-haired man is definitely purring because Mark can feel his chest rumbling with his voice. They exchange a look and the brunet finds himself faintly shaking his head, disapproving his action. The inmate cocks his head to the left and leans back once more. Mark lets out a breath he didn’t realize that he was holding and he focuses on removing the stitches next.

 

The green-haired man hums when Mark touches his neck so he can remove them properly and the sound is too loud to his ears.

 

“Don’t do that,” the brunet says and the inmate lets out a muffled moan. “Stop.” There’s a low chuckle coming from the green-haired man and Mark sighs, thinking of something to say to prevent an awkward silence. “I guess you were right about seeing me soon,” he mumbles. “Blink once for yes and twice for no.”

 

The inmate blinks once and the corner of his eyes lift again.

 

“Did you really bite someone’s ear off?” he whispers, and the green-haired man bats his eyelashes once again. Mark’s mouth forms a thin line. “Do you have a name? I don’t know what to call you…”

 

The man doesn’t blink.

 

“Tough one, aren’t you?” Mark huffs and he thinks that the inmate snorts.

 

The doctor pretends he’s not removing the stitches in a much slower pace than usual to buy himself more time. For what, he doesn’t know. There’s just something oddly captivating in the prisoner’s eyes, he must carry secrets that Mark cannot even phantom. Time is a weird thing in this place. It feels like Mark’s in an entirely different dimension, where everything is just deliberate. Either way, the doctor finishes his work and he takes off his gloves. There’s a whine coming from the green-haired man and Mark looks at him with curiosity, but leaves the cage once the guards command him. The brunet looks back at the cell, watching the man be released and walk towards the cage. Eyes drowning Mark like the ocean.

 

Going back is a complete blur and he works on autopilot when he arrives at the hospital, finishing his shift when it’s past midnight. Mark rests a hand over his face, feeling a headache settling down in his head and he sighs. The brunet opens the door of his empty apartment, craving a shower and a warm bed. He doesn’t eat this time, too exhausted to bring himself to make something. Mark just buries his face in the pillow, scowl finally fading away, and he smells the generic detergent that he uses on his sheets. The black-haired man recalls that inmate from the Asylum and how odd, yet fascinating, he looks. Mark has no idea why he’s there in the first place and, perhaps, he doesn’t want to know.

 

He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift away, deep slumber overtaking him like a sweet lullaby. The black-haired man dreams of a blue sky and a smile that belongs to a faceless man.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SeRU_ZPDkE&list=PL6XgzmiBk09EeJ1f5U3YZSClQgxDLMcMn&index=1) so far ♥  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

Mark knows the layout of the hospital completely by heart at this point, after years working around the place. Another week with hurried steps commences, Mark making sure that everything is alright and that he’s taking care of his patients. It’s just stressful. Mark loves what he does, but he cannot deny the fact that it drains his energy sometimes. He makes sure to smile at everyone and give words of advice to patient visitors. Ethan follows him sometimes to make sure that _Mark_ is alright, acting like a little brother. It’s quite a routine.

 

There are no more calls regarding the inmate from the Asylum and Mark knows he should be relieved about that. It means he’s behaving and taking care of his health. At least, Mark can only hope that a human would do such basic things. However, Mark catches himself thinking about the green-haired man between a blink of an eye, a shadow behind his back. The darkness behind his eyelids turns into shades of navy, sea water that sends waves through his body. Mark shakes his head. Perhaps his colleagues from work are right about finding friends outside of the medical field and just have some fun. If he’s not here in this building, he’s locked up in his apartment studying.

 

Mark’s mind must be seeking company in some way, trying to find a new interest, and that man in the cage happens to catch his attention. He’s like a bird trying to fly, only to flap his wings against the metal bars. Mark plays with this image in his head, zoning out in his office while he rests during a five minutes break. The green-haired man moves like a gracious feline, hissing and climbing until he can no longer find more space. What makes a person commit murder just out of boredom? Mark clicks the pen in his hand that he was using to write some notes, the sound echoing in the office while his eyes focus on nothing. _Click, click, click, click._

 

He jumps, suddenly hearing his telephone ring and he comes out of his trance. Mark looks down and recognizes the receptionist’s number, so he picks it up and greets them politely. The brunet’s hand stops moving and clicking over the pen when he hears that the Asylum is requesting his presence once again. Mark’s quiet for a good ten seconds before he mumbles a reply, wondering what happened this time. He’s surprised to know that it is not regarding the green-haired man. Instead, it’s another inmate that was injured… by the green-haired man. Mark sighs and rubs his temples once he ends the call. What did he do to deserve this?

 

The black-haired man does not make as many turns as before when he walks through the hallways this time. There’s only one guard escorting him and the cell of this inmate is, for lack of a better word, traditional. The man is lying down on his bed, a thin mattress, looking like he’s been through Hell. Mark pauses for a second, taking it all in. The blond-haired man is groaning and his face is covered in blood. He’s holding weakly onto his right arm and Mark purses his lips, realizing that it’s broken. The brunet sits in front of him, glad that he has more privacy, and starts organizing his medical kit once again.

 

Mark greets the man with a tight smile, proceeding to clean his wounds and grimacing when he realizes that most of them are nail cuts. The doctor tries talking to the inmate, soothing him and taking care of all the damage. The green-haired man isn’t allowed to take any pills besides the ones they already give him, so Mark makes a mental note to prescribe painkillers for this patient while he casts the man’s arm. Again, it would be more appropriate to have an X-ray of his broken arm and the brunet shakes his head. The blond-haired man looks at the doctor with tired eyes, shaking slightly as if he’s afraid that something will happen. Mark tries to calm him down and say that everything will be okay, but he just mumbles a negative answer.

 

“H-He…” the inmate whispers. “He has a m-message for you…”

 

“What...? From who?”

 

“We call him Birdy,” he swallows to straighten his voice and then huffs a laugh. “Get it? Because he’s trapped in a fucking cage.”

 

Mark blinks and he sees the animal behind his eyelids, flapping his wings just like before.

 

“He told me to sing to you…” he licks his lips and the next time he talks, it’s a lullaby. “Tick tock… Tick tock… goes the clock, he cradled and he rocked her… Tick tock goes the clock… even for the doctor.”

 

The brunet stares at him for a long time and then he blinks again, choosing to stay quiet and just leave this goddamn place. The blond-haired man laughs when he leaves his cell and Mark presses his lips into a thin line, tightening his grip on his handbag and walking away. In the reception hall, his eyes wander to the wall clock and it bothers him that it doesn’t have the hour and minute hands to actually tell the time. It unsettles the black-haired man and he doesn’t look back once he steps outside.

 

The green-haired man swinging on the metal bars upside down comes to his mind while he’s boiling some water for pasta. The heat reaches Mark’s face and his skin turns a light shade of red. He rubs his eyes and it feels like they’re made out of sandpaper due to exhaustion. Mark’s apartment is dead quiet, so he turns on the television to pretend that someone is there. The brunet eats deliberately, half-lidded eyes glued to the news. Mark sighs after a while and he goes to bed. It’s silent once again, only the sound of his clock on the nightstand working in the background. He shuffles left and right, messing up his sheets, until his brain decides to shut down and rest. The clock’s lullaby doesn’t stop.

 

_Tick, tock_.

 

_Tick, tock_.

 

_Tick, tock_.

 

△∇

  


“Are you okay?”

 

Mark perks up at the question, seeing Ethan with a concerned face. Today’s not as rushed as before, so they decided to actually sit down and eat at the cafeteria. The brunet looks down at his half-eaten turkey sandwich and his empty cup of coffee. Mark clears his throat and presses his fingers between his eyes. His mind has been wandering more often towards that prisoner, and he can’t understand his sudden fixation towards him after two freaking visits where they barely even talked to each other.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, what were you saying?”

 

“Really? Because I literally asked if I could throw my glass of orange juice in your face and you mumbled ‘Yeah, sure.’” Ethan purses his lips.

 

“Did I? I’m sorry, I guess I zoned out.”

 

“You sure did, pal,” the boy shakes his head. “I think you need to rest more, Mark. I’m serious.”

 

The black-haired man scratches the back of his head, nodding. Mark chews the inside of his cheek, reevaluating his life. He really should start making friends outside of work, not that Ethan is a bad person. Not at all. But people can be incredibly predictable sometimes and Mark always ends up not given them proper attention, thus upsetting them. An actual relationship is definitely out of question, it’s a lot of responsibility and time that Mark cannot deal with right now. The brunet looks at the clock from the cafeteria and he knits his eyebrows, remembering the weird lullaby from before.

 

What the heck was that suppose to mean in the first place?

 

The black-haired man sighs several times on the way back to his home and Mark makes sure to take a painkiller, because his back is killing him after a long day. At least, tomorrow will be his day off. Mark stares at himself in the mirror above his sink, rubbing his stubble. The brunet decides to trim his beard a little, and he applies a special lotion to moisturize his hands. Mark looks at his fingers, remembering how cold the prisoner’s hand was under his. He didn’t even have blankets in that cell and that thin grey outfit is certainly not enough to keep him warm. Mark groans, touching the bridge of his nose. He really needs to stop thinking about that green-haired man.

 

Mark picks at a loose thread on his couch, not quite paying attention to what’s playing on the television. He’s been zoning out again and his lips are red from biting on them too much. Mark cannot help but be curious about everything that he finds, being a man of science and all. That’s what he tells himself, at least. So it’s with a long groan in the back of his throat that he gets up to leave his apartment. The black-haired man takes his long coat from the rack and picks up his car keys before locking his door. Mark’s heart races a bit at his decision to see that man again and he also tells himself that, by doing this, he will end his curiosity and proceed with his normal life.

 

They finally fixed that clock without hands and the flickering light from the reception desk. It’s a little more quiet this time and Mark’s relieved by that. He greets the receptionist and opens his mouth to say that he wants to see the green-haired man, but he stops mid-sentence. Mark doesn’t know the inmate’s name, so he tries explaining that he was here before as his doctor. The woman makes an exclamation noise, understanding who it is, and she smiles at him. The inmate isn’t supposed to receive any kind of visits, but since he’s sort of working for them, there’s an exception. An employee with a buzzcut and a white outfit comes for him, checking if he has any sharp objects, and Mark leaves his cell phone with them.

 

“Alright, Dr. Fischbach,” the employee makes a sign for him to follow and he seems to be one of the few people that look friendly. “You must stay at least three feet away from the inmate’s cell, no touching involved. Try not to upset him or bring up any sensitive subject. I’m sure you already know these things, doctor, but it’s my job to say it anyway.”

 

“I understand that perfectly,” Mark nods. They reach the mechanical door and Mark waits for him to put in the code, unlocking it for him.

 

“Oh, one more thing!” he exclaims. “This is recreation hour for them, but Birdy here is not supposed to go out for a week. So if he seems extra annoying, you know why.”

 

Mark frowns, but nods once more. His hazel eyes find the inmate hanging from the metal bars, swinging back and forth. The brunet approaches quietly, seeing the guards standing at the corners of the room, yawning. The green-haired man has his back towards the doctor and his grey shirt has fallen due to gravity, exposing pale skin covered in scars. Mark stops in his tracks and the sound of his feet shuffling on the ground calls the inmate’s attention. He swings his head back just enough to see Mark and a grin shows up on his face immediately, ear-to-ear. The green-haired man screams excitedly, clapping his hands several times like a child.  He comes down with a small huff and hugs the metal bars. Mark takes a step back.

 

“My sweet doctor came to visit me!” he sings. “Pretend I’m making tea for you because I’m a good host!”

 

The black-haired man inhales deeply, having second thoughts about coming here. The man looks exhausted, he has dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. He’s barefoot, toes curling on the floor probably from the cold. There’s still no sign of sheets on his bed. Mark purses his lips, questioning the treatment given to their patients. But, perhaps, the man is doing that to himself and it has nothing to do with the mental hospital. Either way, it does not please the brunet. At least his hand is looking better. Mark realizes that he’s staring and the green-haired man has an unnatural smile, face twitching. The black-haired man clears his throat.

 

“What does that lullaby mean?” he says instead, deciding to be honest. Straight-forward. “Why did you hurt someone just to say that?”

 

“Oh, so you have been thinking about me…” he purrs.

 

“Answer the question.”

 

“I was trying to impress you.” The prisoner pouts. He looks left and right, pretending to gossip, and he puts a hand next to his mouth to whisper. “I’m going to get out of here, doc!” The childish act vanishes for a moment and he looks at Mark through his eyelashes. “It’s just a matter of time… Tick tock, tick tock goes the clock.”

 

“Fine,” the brunet sighs and holds in the urge to roll his eyes. “Amuse me for a moment, then. How is that going to happen?”

 

The green-haired man extends one of his arms between the bars and some of the guards turn their attention to them. Mark narrows his eyes when the inmate points at him with long nails.

 

“You,” he smiles. “It’s going to happen because of _you_ , darling.”

 

“I would call you crazy but…” Mark snorts and looks around to prove his thought. The man with blue eyes chuckles, a silly hiccup laugh that makes the corner of Mark’s lips lift. He frowns at the feeling and the man pulls his arm back to the cage. The brunet shuffles on his feet and puts his hands in his pockets. “Don’t they provide blankets or something? Aren’t you cold?”

 

“Aw! My sweet doctor is worried about me!” He holds his cheeks for moment, speaking in a high pitched voice. But then he rolls his eyes and his tone of voice goes back to normal. “Well, I used to have them. Except that one day I tried to hang myself and now it’s a big no no for me.”

 

There’s a brief pause and they look at each other with an intense gaze. Mark frowns slightly, trying to understand why he finds this enticing. Part of him is horrified by the inmate’s drastic actions, but being in these conditions certainly brings the suicide card into play. Mark can’t scoff at that. The man’s blue eyes seem to shine in this dim room and the brunet can see a faint scar on his neck whenever he moves. The green-haired man clicks his tongue before talking again, licking his dry lips and shuffling his faded green hair.

 

“Would you like sugar or milk?”

 

The odd question throws him for a moment, but then he remembers about the tea. Mark huffs, half smiling, half frowning. “Sugar,” he says a little uncertain, yet playing along. The man’s eyes beam and asks if he likes his drink. The black-haired man finds himself nodding weakly, still gazing at him. “Yeah… Yeah, it’s good.”

 

“So…” the prisoner’s speaks, cheek resting on the cold metal bar. “Are you going to keep visiting me or do I have to hurt myself again to get your attention, doc?”

 

“Don’t do that,” Mark says and inhales deeply, thinking about it. “I do not know. You’re…”

 

“Crazy? Dangerous? Pretty?”

 

“Unpredictable.”

 

The green-haired man knits his eyebrows, trying to understand what he means by that. Mark shrugs at the silent question, not understanding either. Mark is beginning to think that he’s very very lonely and this is certainly not healthy. Especially now that the inmate said he wants to leave this place. What would even happen if he was released? Does he have somewhere to go? Would he be out on the streets? Mark shakes his head and mumbles that he will go for now. The prisoner’s face falls for a second but then he grins once again, saying he’ll be waiting for Mark. The brunet turns his back and goes home feeling a knot in his stomach.

 

The next time Mark sees him, the doctor feels like he’s intruding. The inmate is dancing in the middle of his cage, swaying back and forth and throwing his hands in the air to the rhythm of an imaginary song. His hips move slow, gracefully. Eyes closed, lost to the world that they live in. Everyone is looking like he’s an enchanting snake, and they’ll be bitten if they get too close to such a powerful creature. When he looks at Mark through half-lidded eyes, the brunet holds his breath and the green-haired man smiles faintly, almost like he means it. It’s truly spellbinding.

 

They do not exchange many words, only wary looks that carry a lot of meaning. At one point, the inmate softly whispers that he’s Irish, and Mark has that feeling of _Winning The Lottery But Not Really_. It’s a weird, exhilarating feeling that overcomes him for a moment, because having this man reveal something tiny like this about himself is absurd. The Irishman grins, knowing he’s teased the doctor enough for today. Then he places a finger over his lips, as if telling Mark to be quiet about it. The brunet nods.

 

Mark blinks and he’s at the hospital, time again moving differently from before. Like the Asylum’s eerie atmosphere is dissipating, making everything feel in slow-motion. The doctor looks around, watching people walk left and right. His eyes start losing focus after a while and their faces become a mere blur, everything merging into a strange fog. Mark can practically feel the Irishman messing with his brain, digging his hands in and playing with it. The inmate’s laugh echoes in the back of his head and there’s a cold wave hitting his stomach once again. Mark purses his lips, spacing out.

 

There’s a snapping sound that brings him back to reality and his vision finally focuses, only to see the blue-haired man in front of him. His eyebrows are knit in worry and Mark realizes that he was snapping his fingers to call his attention.

 

“Dude,” is all he says, and Mark doesn’t know how he manages to show all his emotions and questions just through one goddamn word.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You’ve been sending glares at random people and being weird.”

 

Mark frowns and grumbles.

 

“That!” Ethan points at his face. “What the heck happened to you? It’s been weeks since you’ve been acting like that.”

 

“Nothing happened.” The black-haired man frowns even more, feeling somewhat irritated.

 

The nurse sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t think you should go to that place anymore, Mark. It ain’t healthy.”

 

The man with the hazel eyes doesn’t say anything back, because Ethan’s not wrong in the first place. Mark chews the inside of his cheek, looking past him to see everyone’s faces. There’s a brief thought whispering in the back of his mind that they’re all just shapes. And it feels like that thought will only keep growing with time. Mark was never the type of person to obsess over something, but this is surely starting to feel a lot like it.

 

He closes his eyes hard enough until he sees multiple colorful dots and prays to whatever god for this feeling to go away.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tick Tock.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3B9jA_aJXRg)   
> 


	3. Chapter 3

“Come closer.”

 

The Irishman’s words are low enough that no one else but Mark notices. He shuffles on his feet, pursing his lips and feeling an invisible pull towards the inmate. The brunet looks around, seeing the guards yawn and look down with bored faces. He takes a shy step forward, not wanting to make any alarming sound and the Irishman looks at him intently. Mark walks a little more, the space between them getting smaller, and only the cage prevents them from being chest-to-chest. They stare, as always, and Mark thinks the man is even prettier up close. He can see all his perfections and imperfections: the pores of his skin and his long lashes, the Irishman’s fading hair that looks extremely soft, the light scar on his neck and the dark circles under his eyes. Mark’s heart starts pounding against his ribcage, noticing that the man is looking at his flaws as well. Their eyes wander, exploring what they cannot touch, and Mark clenches his hands.

 

Their breathing becomes shallow and the doctor can’t quite pinpoint what the Irishman smells like. He thought it’d be something generic, hospital-like, because of this goddamn place that insists on sending shivers down his spine. But he was wrong to think that way. The man with the blue eyes smells delightful, like a faint breeze brushing on Mark’s face that reminds him of the sea. The brunet swallows and the inmate gazes at his throat moving, purring softly. He’s hypnotized by this man, there’s no doubt of that. Mark’s utterly lost in those eyes that hold a piece of the sky and he can’t think properly. The world around them fades away, like a black curtain falling closed, and it’s just them. Mark leans forward and the prisoner smiles when his forehead rests against the metal bars. They’re as close as they can be, but the brunet doesn’t think it’s enough. The smile from the Irishman is nothing like before, it’s warm and welcoming. Mark finds himself returning the action and his stomach does something funny.

 

“Anti,” the man whispers and the doctor frowns slightly. “Call me Anti.”

 

“Okay,” Mark murmurs back, and the man - Anti - cocks his head to the left in an innocent manner. “Okay…”

 

Anti rests his forehead against the cage and Mark smiles even more.

 

△∇

 

Anti tells Mark to visit him in the evening next time and that makes the brunet frown a little bit. It’s darker than before at this hour, but it’s quieter. There’s less guards watching over the Irishman and his footsteps echo around the place. Anti’s hanging upside down and Mark watches him, wishing he could touch his cold skin. The inmate stretches, showing more of his belly and happy trail, before coming down. Mark asks Anti why he wanted him here at this different time, when the visiting hours are almost over. The Irishman places a finger over his own pinkish mouth, shushing him with a mischievous smile.

 

The man looks behind Mark and his smirk grows even more. The brunet knits his eyebrows when the light from the hallway reaches him, and he turns to look back. There’s two employees wearing white and Mark recognizes one of them from before, the Buzzcut Guy. They nod at the doctor and he returns the gesture, noticing that they have handcuffs and a tray of medicine. Mark scowls, wondering if Anti wanted him here just to see him taking his medication. They ask him to step away for a moment and Mark exchanges a look with the Irishman. He’s acting like a naughty kid, just like before. Anti sways his hips, a movement that, if he was wearing a dress, would cause the garment to sway with him. Mark’s mouth forms a thin line, worried about what the Irishman’s thinking.

 

They order Anti to turn his back and step away from the bars before they can open the cell. The inmate does what he’s told, batting his eyelashes and murmuring a _Yes, sir._ Mark’s whole body goes tense when Anti winks at him over his shoulder and there’s anxiety hovering over him. Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong. Mark shakes his head slowly, mouthing a _Don’t_ at the inmate. He remembers the lullaby briefly and the weird melody starts playing in his head. _Tick tock, tick tock._

 

Mark holds his breath and clenches his hands when everything starts going downhill. Anti turns fast at the employee, biting into his cheek, and the man screams in pain. Everything happens in a blink of an eye. The other employee tries pushing Anti away, already going to grab the staff resting on his right hip. Everyone in the goddamn room starts shouting, ordering Anti to stop moving, but the Irishman continues to take a chunk out of the man’s face. He spits the piece of meat on the other guy and there’s blood on his teeth. The inmate releases the desperate man and Mark watches in horror at how he stumbles to the ground, holding his face in pain. Anti turns to the other man and punches him in the gut before the staff hits him. There’s a snapping sound that is too loud to Mark’s ears and the man’s lifeless body falls on the cold floor, neck broken.

 

Red lights flash in the Asylum and an alarm rings loudly around them. Guards wearing black point their guns at the inmate, screaming for him to stay put or they will shoot. Anti looks at him with violent eyes and Mark can’t bring himself to move. He’s afraid to blink, to breathe. Everything is extremely intense and fucking _loud_. The Irishman runs towards him, leaving the birdcage, and Mark sees it happen in slow-motion. Anti’s face covered in crimson underneath the flashing lights, flapping his wings to get away, his graceful body moving precisely, the click of a gun being cocked a few feet away from him. The brunet’s eyes widen and he finds himself stepping forward, extending his hands to stop the guard and his mouth opens to scream.

 

_“No!”_

 

The gunshot cracks into the air, coming from one direction only, and it’s like a thunderclap in the Stockhausen’s Asylum. The mechanical sound is brief and deadly, fading until there’s only the red alarm in the building. Anti gasps like all the air left his lungs and he stumbles forward. The black-haired man catches him in his arms and they fall on their knees. Mark sees the Irishman’s eyes close and his body goes limp, fainting. The doctor’s hands are shaking when he feels blood soaking the thin grey shirt of the green-haired man, and he feels a thousand eyes piercing through him. Mark swallows his heavy breaths and looks around, glaring at the frozen guards. His heart is racing with adrenaline, pounding loudly in his ears.

 

“The f-fuck are you looking at?! W-We need to take him to-” Mark trails off and his vision loses focus, realizing what Anti has done. He looks down at the green-haired man, holding him tight, and his expression is serene. Mark sucks in air and runs a hand through his hair.

 

_It’s going to happen because of you, darling._

 

“Son of a bitch…” he murmurs to himself, and he can hear Anti’s laugh in the back of his mind.

  


△∇

 

Mark barely blinks in the back of the ambulance, still trying to process what happened. The nurse cuts Anti’s shirt to start working on the injury as much as she can until they arrive at the hospital. The brunet shakes his head and swallows a scream, shutting down his emotions and focusing on the patient. He moves on autopilot, checking the man’s pulse and analyzing what he can.  Mark tries not to think that he’s able to touch Anti, but in poor circumstances. They will need to contact someone from the Stockhausen’s Asylum immediately so they can come and fill out the patient’s personal information and give them consent to perform any kind of treatment, because it’s not like Anti has anyone that knows him from the outside. Mark doesn’t count, he knows nothing about this man. This fact angers him.

 

The doctor curses under his breath, trying to stop his hands from trembling. Memories of his younger self flashing in his mind, shaking like a leaf at the job. Ethan meets his eyes across the room and Mark exhales, sending him a look that speaks more than words. For lack of a better word, it’s maddening. The man with the hazel eyes starts requesting for the nurses to check his vitals and they place two large-bore IV cannulas for fluid replacement. There’s a sigh of relief coming from Mark’s lips when they announce that a caretaker from the Stockhausen’s Asylum is there and giving consent, signing the papers and following their procedures. Mark disinfects his hands when they reach the operating room and he turns to face Anti, pursing his lips underneath the mask.

 

The doctor nods at the nurses to say he’s ready and starts taking care of the Irishman’s bullet wound in his abdomen, trying to ignore the panic in the back of his mind.

 

Mark blinks and he’s in his office, his vision slowly focusing again. The brunet is resting a hand against his forehead and he looks down at the papers spread over his table, not quite reading them. There’s a sense of unease hovering in the air and Mark doesn’t like that at all. He thinks about Anti and how the bastard is in a room on the third floor, unconscious but well after the surgery. The doctor purses his lips, remembering that the bullet was inches away from causing permanent damage. He shakes his head. This man will be the death of him.

 

It’s past two in the morning and exhaustion is getting to him, threatening to settle down over his shoulders. The police left an hour ago, after gathering information about the situation. Since the patient’s been shot, the hospital had the responsibility of contacting the police to report the incident. Mark didn’t even know what to say. He mumbled for the first time in years and felt a chill down his spine under the gaze of the policemen. Something about the inmate going berserk left his mouth and the caretaker from the Stockhausen’s Asylum helped him go through the questions. The brunet sighs, worried that somehow they knew something about his relationship with Anti. The word _relationship_ burns in his head, not feeling quite right.

 

He gets up from his chair and leaves his office, taking the elevator to the third floor. The doctor takes a couple of turns, just like in the Asylum, until he reaches the room he wants. Mark opens the door quietly, inhaling the chemical atmosphere of the place before locking himself in the room. Stepping towards the bed in the middle, the brunet’s frown fades away. There’s a hint of affection and worry in his eyes, and Mark raises his hand slowly. Anti’s sleeping figure doesn’t stir when the doctor’s fingers caress his hair. The Irishman’s skin is still cold and his mouth is softly ajar, breathing steadily. Mark watches Anti’s eyes flicker behind his eyelids and, after a moment, the green-haired man frowns slightly.

 

Mark takes his hand off Anti before he fully wakes up, exhaling heavily. The Irishman blinks and tries looking around, focusing his eyes in the hospital’s artificial light. Anti half groans, half chuckles when he sees the doctor. Mark glares down at him. The green-haired man whines, opening and closing his mouth, and the brunet knows that his tongue must feel numb right now, like a cotton. Mark takes the cup of water from the nightstand and positions the straw between Anti’s lips. They’re silent, both waiting for the Irishman to gather his bearings. The clock on the wall is the only sound that breaks the quietness of it all.

 

“How could you do this me?” Mark whispers harshly, swallowing a scream. The question sounds odd even to his ears. It’s like Anti broke a promise they never quite made, a borrowed toy that was shattered into pieces by him. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Right now?” Anti’s voice is hoarse and the words are dragged out. “Recover.”

 

“And then?”

 

The Irishman sends him a goofy smile, pupils wide due to the medications, and he shushes Mark. The doctor feels angry, but he keeps it to himself. Anti knew that the only way to leave the Stockhausen’s Asylum would be with a major injury, and he got exactly what he wanted. Mark purses his lips, knowing that without his help and somewhat this _relationship_ , Anti wouldn’t have gotten so far. The brunet let himself be carried away, even though he knew the inmate’s intentions deep down in his heart. _He’s going to leave,_ Mark thinks to himself. _As soon as he’s able to stand up, he’ll be gone from this place._ They exchange a look and it feels like Anti is reading all his thoughts. Mark sighs and lets him.

 

The next couple of days are filled with anxiety crawling under the brunet’s skin. He half smiles at people and doesn’t glance twice at his other colleagues from work. Mark chews on the pen in his hand and jiggles his legs. Whenever he can, he’ll go to see Anti and sigh in relief every time he’s still there in the bed. Sometimes Mark will see the green-haired man shirtless while Ethan changes his bandages over his abdomen and Anti will glare at the nurse, growling and threatening to bite him if he keeps touching him. Mark tells the Irishman to stop, not even bothering to raise his voice, and Ethan looks between them when Anti does what he’s told.

 

“That man gives me the creeps,” the blue-haired man whispers once he’s done. “It’s weird how you can control him…”

 

They stare at Anti. He’s in a wheelchair, close to the open window, and his arms are stretched out far enough to feel the rain drip down his fingers. Mark watches the Irishman close his eyes in pleasure whenever the water touches his skin, content from having this little piece of the world once again. The doctor hums, smiling at the beautiful figure before them. Ethan eyes him in worry. Anti brings his hand to his lips, licking the raindrops from his fingers.

 

“No,” the brunet murmurs, not taking his eyes off him. “I do not control him at all. No one does.”

 

△∇

 

Mark stares at the empty bed.

 

His grip on the doorknob tightens and the event that was bound to happen finally came. The brunet takes a deep breath, dragging his hands over his face and disheveling his hair. The cold, tousled sheets from the hospital bed are a horrible image to his eyes and Mark feels out of place. His mouth forms a thin line and his heart beats fast, panicking over the fact that they have an unstable and highly dangerous person wandering around the city. The Stockhausen’s Asylum will definitely not like the news and the brunet sighs, already thinking that they’ll complain about their security and probably call the cops to search for the Irishman. Mark’s head throbs and he seriously needs to take an aspirin.

 

He walks up to the receptionist counter and tells them about the patient’s escape in a calm voice, not quite present. Everyone panics, sending people to look around the hospital and calling the Asylum. Mark ignores everything, choosing to stare at the ground with drooping eyes. He only looks up to see the clock on the wall. It’s three in the goddamn morning. Mark’s shift already ended two hours ago, but he still stayed just because. Now, he wants nothing more than to sink into his bed and erase the green-haired man from his mind. With that thought, he turns around and takes off his white coat. Mark gathers his handbag and organizes the papers on his desk before leaving the hospital, knowing that they will not find Anti there anymore.

 

There’s a strange feeling that threatens to corrupt him over time, a black spot that is slowly staining his heart. The black-haired man blinks and he sees a bright blue sky with no clouds behind his eyelids. Mark looks outside the window of his apartment, glaring at the moon and the stars. Everything is quiet, too quiet. Knowing that Anti is somewhere, still healing, in the streets, haunts him like never before. The inmate became his personal ghost, a little devil on his back that Mark can’t brush off. He groans softly into his pillow, wanting to fall asleep and just fucking _forget_. But it doesn’t work, at all.

 

The doctor does his best to distract himself with work, but there’s a sense of instability in his mind that wasn’t there before. After the third day without any sign of the missing patient, he is a mess. Mark barely eats and sleeps, there are dark circles kissing his eyes and his shoulders are hunched down. Ethan literally has to make him sit down at one point, shoving a bottle of water in his hand and making him eat something. Mark glares down until the shape of a sandwich wrapped in plastic makes sense to his eyes. He’s been disconnected from reality in a way, feeling numb, and doing things on autopilot. The brunet sighs and he doesn’t remember taking a bite from the food but apparently he did, because the flavor of cheese coats his mouth. Mark’s mind wanders to the policemen, knowing that they’re still in the streets looking for a green-haired man.

 

Ethan tells him to go home early and rest a lot tomorrow since it’s his day off. Mark mumbles an answer that he doesn’t remember, but it seems enough to make the nurse leave him alone for a while. The doctor replays the memory of the Irishman dancing in that cage for a couple of minutes before actually going back to work. Mark thought a lot about what Anti could be doing in this sparse time that is turning into a week. Part of him hopes that he’s okay, being careful and warm. The other side of him is afraid that the worst could be happening at Anti’s hands.

 

Mark takes the stairs of his building instead of the elevator, wanting to walk a little bit to actually feel his body. A few drops of water fall from his frame due to the rain, because he didn’t bother to grab an umbrella. When he walks into the hallway, he stops in front of his door and his shoulders tense up. The door is ajar and Mark knows he left it unlocked before leaving the house. His heart races against his ribcage and he clenches his hands, not denying the small hint of hope that hovers over his mind when he walks inside.

 

The smell of tea fills the air of his home and his living room is messier than before, books and photo albums strewn around the floor. Mark drops the handbag next to the rack and walks into the kitchen only to see none other than the missing patient. The brunet holds his breath and stares at the man’s back, begging for his eyes to keep this memory as clear as day. The Irishman is whistling while he pours tea into a mug at one in the morning, aware that he’s being watched. When he adds some sugar, the man finally turns to look at Mark. Anti looks like he just came out of a shower. His hair is dyed a shade of dark green, damp strands curling above his forehead, and his fingernails are painted pitch-black. The brunet stares at the figure, still standing in the doorway, and he notices that Anti is wearing an old shirt of his and boxer briefs. The Irishman’s been here for a while, apparently.

 

“You left.” _Me_ , remains unsaid.

 

The green-haired man gazes at him up and down with a deadpan expression. Mark swallows, unable to blink as if he’s afraid the man will vanish into thin air. His hands clench and unclench, using all the control he has not to run across the room to feel the Irishman in his arms. A soft smile shows up on Anti’s face and his blue eyes shine just like in the cage. God, Mark can’t deny he missed that. The fact that Anti is trespassing inside his house is not mentioned, and the brunet thinks he should’ve expected something like this at the very least. The Irishman shrugs and crosses his arms, leaning on Mark’s counter like he belongs there.

 

“Why don’t you drink with me?” he says.

 

The doctor looks down at the two mugs filled with freshly made tea. He grinds his teeth, frowning and disliking how nonchalant Anti can be sometimes. There’s a thought in his head that tells him to just call the cops, the Asylum, anyone at all so they can have their patient back in place. Anti narrows his eyes, gesturing to the stool with his finger in a silent order. Mark exhales and walks with wary steps until he’s sitting across from the Irishman. They gaze at each other, free from metal bars, and the brunet forces himself to drink. Anti flashes a grin when Mark swallows.

 

“They’re looking for you,” the black-haired man murmurs, staring down at his mug and remembering their conversation back at the Asylum.

 

“I know.”

 

“And I know where you are now.”

 

“And I know you won’t do anything about that, doc.”

 

Mark scowls at himself and a hiccuping laugh coming from Anti echoes through the apartment. “What do you want, Anti...? Don’t you already have what you want? Aren’t you free? If you’re so confident that I won’t reveal your location, why are you still here?”

 

The green-haired man continues to stare at him, as if telling him that the answer is obvious just through his expression. Mark sighs, knowing what he’s thinking. He drags a hand over his face, resting his elbows on the counter.

 

“What have you done to me?” the brunet whispers. “I can’t…”

 

“Yes, you can,” Anti speaks in strong conviction. “Disappearing is way easier than you think.”

 

“Y-You… You’re insane! I can’t leave my job, this is my life! It’s all I have and I-”

 

“Mark!”

 

The sound of his name being shouted makes him look up in alarm. Anti is glaring furiously at him and Mark realizes that this is the second time the green-haired man dared to call him by his actual name. The brunet watches him slam his hand over the counter and the mugs jump a little at the sudden movement.

 

“You call this pile of shit _life_?! I have been watching you from afar and jesus fucking christ, everything is boring as fuck. You work your ass off for what?! Everyone is going to die anyway. Nothing is _real!_ Society just brainwashed us to work for them, to do what’s  _normal_ in their eyes. Status, money, a big house, a fancy car, a nice woman to marry. Wake up, darling!” Anti scoffs. “Do you want to live like that, attached to these stupid rules that can’t ever be questioned, just so you can die alone in a cold bed? You think you’re doing something for the greater good, but no one is going to remember when you’re gone.”

 

“I don’t understand wh-”

 

“Get your fucking head out of the sand!” Anti interrupts him and Mark tells him to stop provoking him. He doesn’t. “I bet you’ve always been the good boy of the family, haven’t you? Never were out of line, huh? Always obeying orders, doing what you were told…” The green-haired man shakes his head and bites his lips. “Such a shame…”

 

“Shut up,” Mark mumbles, knitting his eyebrows even more and closing his hands into fists.

 

“You remind me of when I was younger,” Anti whispers with a glint in his eyes. “There’s so much anger in you. Let it out, baby.”

 

“Anti.”

 

“Disappear with me.”

 

Something snaps inside Mark when he hears the Irishman’s words softly reaching his ears and he jumps off of the stool, running towards Anti. The man’s face lights up when Mark pushes him against the fridge to clash their lips together. The Irishman laughs between kisses and the brunet grunts, shoving him hard to shut him up. The laughter is replaced by moans soon after and Mark tastes the sweetness of Anti’s mouth. They kiss harshly, desperately. Mark doesn’t want to think about the consequences, so he pushes all those thoughts to the back of his mind and sucks on Anti’s tongue. They tilt their heads to deepen the kiss and the green-haired man grabs Mark’s hips with his long nails, leaving half-moon shapes on his skin.

 

The brunet sighs when they pull their lips apart and he bites down on the man’s neck, feeling the light scar there. He’s overwhelmed with the feeling of actually being able to touch this man. He’s been madly lost without seeing him. There’s no bars between them this time. Mark shivers when Anti licks his ear to call his attention. Without a second thought, the doctor picks him up and takes him to the bedroom. The Irishman wiggles his legs in the air, giggling like a kid. Mark holds him close when they lie down in bed and Anti’s cold skin is soon warm beneath his body. His heart clenches when the Irishman looks up at him in expectation.

 

Mark has to grip his sheets to keep himself together when he opens up Anti with his fingers, the man has no shame to scream and yell profanities. The green-haired man doesn’t wait for a third finger and tells Mark to fuck him like he’s never done before. He keeps telling the brunet to let it go and he half laughs, half moans when the black-haired man thrusts into him. Mark fucks him mercilessly, groaning through his teeth and holding Anti by the waist to keep him still. There’s anger lashing out of his body, hating and loving the man beneath him. The brunet looks down at the scars that kiss the Irishman’s skin, lingering at the one on his abdomen. Anti mewls and the bed slams against the wall with their movements. Mark curses out loud and the man giggles.

 

Anti shifts their position in a graceful move, riding Mark shamelessly with a smile. The brunet stares up at the beautiful figure on top of him, letting him take over. A sob comes out of his lips when Anti sinks down harder and Mark touches the man’s leaking cock. The green-haired man moves both of his hands to wrap around the doctor’s neck and Mark finds himself letting him do whatever he wants. The Irishman strangles Mark enough to hear his heart pulsing frantically like a drum, and the brunet sucks for air in harsh gasps. The feeling is utterly overpowering, losing the sense of space while his vision becomes a blur. The knot below his stomach grows and Mark curls his fingers and toes unconsciously, rolling his eyes back when he comes inside Anti.

 

The Irishman keeps thrusting through Mark’s orgasm until he finds his own release, spilling between their stomach with a loud moan. He pulls his hands away from the brunet’s neck and Mark can breathe properly again, coughing a little at the pressure. Anti scratches his nails over the doctor’s chest, purring in contentment. He leans down to gaze at Mark through half-lidded eyes and the smile that shows on his face looks sincere, happy. It’s a small crack in the mask that Anti wears and it’s enough to make the brunet’s heart flutter. There’s quiet between their breaths, both processing what happened. Mark’s torn and confused. Anti rubs their cheek against each other and kisses the doctor lightly. The gentle touch is odd coming from him, but Mark welcomes it.

 

Otherwise he’ll fall apart right here and now.

 

In the morning, Mark looks at the sleeping figure next to him in awe. Anti’s hair is dishevelled, pink mouth ajar, body painted with hickeys and bruises like a personal canvas. The Irishman’s expression is serene and Mark notices that his pillows no longer smell of generic detergent, but a mix of his own shampoo with Anti’s light fragrance that reminds him of the sea. It’s absolutely enchanting and Mark feels more enamored by this man. There’s a thrilling thought of knowing that he can end the brunet’s life in a blink of an eye and yet, he chooses not to.

 

There’s a knock on his door that stirs the Irishman awake and Mark frowns, looking at the clock over his nightstand. It’s almost midday and the brunet is surprised to know that they slept so many hours. Anti opens his eyes when there’s another knock and they exchange a look. Mark gets up and quietly gathers some clothes, only looking at the man again when he’s about to leave the room. The Irishman sits up in bed, narrowing his eyes at Mark, as if daring him to do something that he’s not suppose to. The brunet closes the bedroom door and walks up to look through the peephole. His shoulders tense up when he sees what appears to be a detective, but he opens the front door with a smile.

 

“May I help you?” Mark politely asks.

 

The man greets him and proceeds to explain that he came looking for Mark at the hospital, only to realize that he’s not working today. The brunet nods, letting the man speak. The detective mentions that he’d like to ask some questions about Mark’s visits to the inmate who escaped, wanting to link something to the case. Mark’s hand tightens around the doorknob when Ethan’s name is spoken, because apparently the nurse talked to the detective about the doctor’s behavior since meeting the inmate. The brunet wants nothing more than to slam the door shut and run away, but he keeps nodding and praying that Anti stays put.

 

There’s a voice in his head saying he should tell exactly what happened, snitching Anti’s position and getting away with it. If anything, he could say the man is obsessed with Mark, even though it’s quite the opposite. The image of the green-haired man kissing him softly after fucking his brain out comes to mind when the detective invites himself inside and sits down on the couch. Mark eyes the books and photo albums that Anti was probably looking at before. The brunet quickly maps out the area in his head, thankful that the extra mug is in the sink. When the detective asks the motives of his visits, Mark stares at him for a long time.

 

Then, he opens his mouth to speak.

 

And he lies.

 

The doctor says that everything was mere curiosity for his studies, mentioning how fascinated he is by psychology and how he’s been wanting to pursue new treatment options for mentally unstable patients. In a way, it’s not that far from the truth.

 

Mark pretends to scoff at the patient from the Asylum, saying that those kind of people are a danger to society and should be treated with stronger methods. The detective nods, buying his shit, and Mark’s grateful for how good he is with words. The man asks if he can look around the place before leaving and that makes anxiety crawl under his skin. The image of his messy bed with a green-haired man on it flashes behind his eyelids.

 

“Go ahead,” he says.

 

The man checks every goddamn room and Mark makes sure to leave the bedroom for last, already questioning if he should take him down in case something happens. The doctor holds his breath when the man opens the bedroom door and he tries to keep his expression calm when there’s no sign of the green-haired man. For a moment, Mark thinks the Irishman left him again and that everything was just a trick to corrupt him one last time. But then, he sees a small glint underneath the bed and he’s thankful that the detective is checking the closet. Anti, wearing only his boxer briefs, is lying flat under the bed, holding a kitchen knife. He narrows his eyes at Mark. The air is tense and the doctor tries shaking his head softly at the monster beneath his bed, wanting him to keep still. When the detective moves closer to the bedframe, Mark doesn’t think twice and fakes a groan.

 

The man looks at him in concern and the brunet touches his head, murmuring something about feeling ill. This makes Anti put the knife down and he just watches Mark fake symptoms he knows well enough, moving the guy to the other side of the room. The doctor apologies, saying he wasn’t expecting a visit so soon. It makes the detective flush in embarrassment, knowing he should have warned beforehand. Mark brushes it off, trying to be charming and get him out of the room. There’s a sigh in the back of his throat when the bedroom door is closed and Mark rests his forehead against the front door when the man leaves, screaming inside.

 

When he turns back, he sees Anti leaning against the counter. He’s resting the knife lightly on his own cheek, in what could almost be a cute manner, and one arm embraces his thin waist. The green-haired man hums and smiles wide at the brunet. Mark wants to devour him, to peel all his layers to see what he finds, to know the story of every scar, every bruise. The black-haired man wants to destroy him, only to put him back together just like Anti did with him. To break him, knowing he’ll be the only one able to patch him up.

 

“Disappear with me,” he murmurs again.

 

Mark huffs, the end of his mouth curling into a small smile at the thought, and he finds himself nodding.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading this! Big shout out for my best friend for always editing my stories and being my sense8, [Maggie.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MargaretKire/pseuds/MargaretKire) ♥  
> 


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